Stay

Chapter Three.

School is always quiet first thing in the morning. The hustle and bustle that usually runs throughout the hallway is a quiet hum, no loud and unexpected noises. Just peace.

I always make sure to get here half an hour early, usually to drop most of my stuff off in the closet, my go-to's usually being a scent that smells like home, a spare stress ball and a pillow from my bed, things that bring a bit of familiarity and calm when my mind loses control. The little bit of time I have before lessons is enough for me to take a few deep breaths, I have found that the longer I do this for, the more prepared and less likely I am to panic throughout the day.

'3 O'clock will always come'

Today I've brought in some chocolate chip cookies and a banana to eat at break, this is also technically my breakfast as I'm always too nervous to eat before I leave, it's also helpful because I won't have to enter the cafeteria and line up. It's always busy in there at break and lunch, like a pack of hungry wolves that haven't eaten in days. Too busy for little old me to handle. It's practically a panic attack waiting to happen, so I avoid it as much as physically possible.

Humming along to a tune from one of my favorite Disney movies I pull open the heavy closet door and to my surprise its occupied?

A boy, around my age sits, curled up in the corner. His curly, strawberry blond hair is shining in the yellow lamp. He slowly looks up and that's when I notice his red stained cheeks and a brutally, bruised black eye.

My palms start to sweat as I am unprepared for the bizarre situation ahead of me. I must look so awkward just staring at him, I could ask him what's wrong but that might be too personal.

What if I just leave? Yeah, just leave without a fuss.

But what do I do instead?

I awkwardly bend down and pull my fluffy, purple pillow an inch away from him and place my bag of chocolate cookies on top.

Never breaking eye contact the whole time... I don't think I could have made this anymore awkward if I tried.

He gives me a dismissive stare, showing anger, sadness and vulnerability as his watery eyes attempt to suss me out. He looks me up and down, I can see he is trying to remember if he knows me. I have never seen him in school before. Where did he even come from?

Without saying anything, I slowly back away towards to door. He rests his head between his hands placed gently on his legs. The curly haired guy looks like he's in pain. Mentally or physically I'm not sure, it's hard to tell, the only clue being the purple bruise around his watery eyes. Maybe his pain is both Mental and Physical. But I can't help but to think who this guy is?

Shaking off the curiosity, I slowly pull the heavy door to the closet shut as I leave. I can't help but to feel slightly annoyed at him for finding my hiding spot. Now I must spend break and lunch in the halls, wondering aimlessness as I wait for class to begin again and more importantly, spend it hiding from Layla and Eric.

The school halls are now a lot busier than just moments before. You can already tell the school is separated into clicks just by observing from afar.

The geeky kids, the sport lovers, the quiet ones and the group which Layla is known too. The popular ones. However, I will never understand why they are called popular because if you think about it, no one actually likes them. They don't even like one another as they continuously spread rumors about one another and stab each other in the back. Popular is an unfitted name in my opinion even if they do look the part.

My stomach gets tied into a tight knot as my eyes glance across a girl's perfect hair and golden tanned (from a bottle) skin. Her silver sunglasses placed on top of her head and her brand-new Gucci hand bag (most likely a fake) rests on the nook of her arm.

Spotting me, she gives a warning glare to not approach. Diverting my eyes, I look towards the dusty white floor before scurrying out the corridor and out of her reach, for now.

Even though the school is riddled with bullies and tormentors praying on the kind hearted, there are a few nice people. People who don't notice me and would probably never recognize me if I did gather the courage to talk to them.

Although, they always give me a glance of pity. A look that screams 'sorry'  but the word is never spoken. They apologize because they see the way I'm treated. Physically bullied almost every day by the same group of people and that's not even the verbal abuse they throw on top as well. It's when push comes to shove they never say the words because they're glad it's me and not them.

I'm used to the verbal abuse anyways.

First lesson of the day: P.E, also known as the worst lesson of the day. Usually the teachers pick out two students who then must take it in turns to pick who they want in their teams. 

I'm always last.

I rush to the girls changing rooms a few seconds before the bell to get a private locker, one that has a key and is hidden away from them. This way they can't steal my clothes and watch me run around like a lost puppy in nothing but a small towel trying to find them.

I can't help but to hold my breath as I walk around the corner, and I am not alone.

The dark haired popular girl already stands in the doorway, hands on either side of the door, her dark and piercing eyes glaring down at me. The smirk plastered on her face sends shivers down my spine.

"Well, aren't I lucky to have ran into you?" Layla pauses, glancing back at her entourage with a giggle. "Trying to escape us, Tripper? I must say, we are very offended by that." Her voice is low with a sarcastic twang before she laughs again.

She drops her arm from the door and extends it to me. I try to take a step back but my feet are glued to the floor in terror. Her manicured hand takes a strand of my long blond hair, she fiddles with it, twisting it around her fingers. "I thought we were friends." She pouts. My heart rate gets faster and louder as it pounds against my chest and my vision goes blurry.

What's going to happen to me?

To my surprise, Layla moves out of my way. A smirk still plastered on her face. "Go ahead." She utters.

With hesitation, I walk forward.